


rain, rain, (don't) go away

by runswithchopsticks



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, nonsensical word stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 20:18:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5305415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runswithchopsticks/pseuds/runswithchopsticks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rain, in the case for Chanyeol, begins as a curse. But, he can't say that it's not a blessing either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rain, rain, (don't) go away

**Author's Note:**

> originally written for fanforyeol 2015  
> finally something that gave me an excuse to write an otp >.

Fall weather seriously sucks, Chanyeol realizes.  
  
One minute, the sun shines high and bright in the blue-grey expanse of sky, the next it’s raining walls of water and cats and dogs and flowerpots and whatever was once hanging on the clotheslines strung precariously between the dull-brown brick apartment buildings crowded on the edges of the streets.  
  
His monotonous day began with the routine laundry cycle of office work; staring at documents and accounting books for nine hours straight, his eyes and mind withering a bit each time another packet of paper was placed in front of his nose. Throughout the day, he had been immensely inattentive to his work, his brain shutting down and deciding it would rather sleep than sit through punching through another book or filing another set of documents. But Chanyeol, being a character who boasts to be full of will and determination, had barely staved off the boredom, interrupting his work routine by taking walks around his building, sifting through the break room refrigerator and contemplating whether or not to steal Kyungsoo’s lunch, or wheeling around the office in his rolly chair (despite the odd looks his coworkers shoot his way).  
  
Therefore, at five o’clock sharp, when he had poked his head into his boss’s cubicle, saying he was going to take his leave, the man had dismissed him with a disinterested wave of his hand. Chanyeol was more than ready to take a short, calming walk home, before retiring on his couch to some microwaveable dinner and bad drama.  
  
As he pushes open the building’s glass doors, he is hit with a face-full of crisp autumn air, slightly intermixed with the bitter tones of gasoline and car exhaust, as well as the enticing scents of garlic, cheese, and bread from the Italian restaurant down the street. He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath, turning side to side and raising his arms, stretching the muscles there that were tense and sore from sitting down for almost a full day.  
  
The sun had shone down boldly down across the city, engulfing the area in a slight yellow glow. The rays washed over Chanyeol’s skin with an uncontrollable sort of warmth that spread from the tips of his fingers to his cheeks and his toes. He smiles, feeling reenergized, as he begins his trip home, humming a quiet tune under his breath, and deciding that this day was going to end well.  
  
Lost under the shroud of his thoughts and eagerness to get home, he doesn’t notice the misshapen grey clouds sliding across the sky to shelter the sun in their thick canvases, a slight bitter wind picking up pace and sending wrappers and leaves flying across his line of vision, or the darkening of his surroundings. All the light in the area faded out, and a fat raindrop lands with a noisy  _splat_ on the bridge of his nose.  
  
Within a few seconds, more raindrops join the initial one, tumbling to the pavement with swift speeds, bulleting the ground with sharp and rapid pummels until the whole sidewalk had turned to a darker color. Chanyeol squeaks, as more and more rain lands on his head, his shoulders, his shoes. He hastily flips open the flap of his briefcase and shoves his hand inside, digging around frantically for his umbrella– until he realizes that he’d left the object at home. Originally, he had thought bringing it would be unnecessary that day, for when he left in the morning the sun was still beaming down upon the city.  
  
Holding his briefcase over his head, Chanyeol begins to run, eyes darting rapidly back and forth in attempt to search for the nearest form of shelter. He spots what he’s looking for – a convenience store, several meters ahead, and ducks quickly under its roof, taking refuge off to the side of the sliding doors, next to a few dusty vending machines and several worn newspaper boxes.  
  
Turning around, he brings his briefcase down from atop his head. Staring at the downpour in front of him and stepping a few feet forward, he contemplates if it would be plausible to run all the way home. But as he stood at the edge where the roof of the store would stop and the sky would begin, it seemed that the water cascading from above formed a thin barricade between he and the world… and if he reached out past the safety of the roof, the rain would swallow him.  
  
There is absolutely no possibility he would be able to arrive safely in this storm without becoming soaked to the bone, Chanyeol realizes. His only other option was to wait it out – but the endless downpour didn’t seem to be diminishing in its power at all, and he was itching to just curl up on his couch with his TV remote and copious amounts of food.  
  
Reluctantly, he decides on the latter option – after all, it would suck for him to fall ill (stuffy noses and sore throats, he remembers, make him sound like Pikachu after puberty, which was subject to much teasing and snickering from his co-workers). He chooses a spot in front of a newspaper box, squatting down with his briefcase sitting next to him, as he stares ahead with boredom and vexation, biting down on his tongue in a grimace. His plans for the evening would have to wait, it seemed.  
  
Chanyeol is not a very patient man. After a few minutes his legs were already falling asleep, irritating tingly sensations shooting up his calves as he grumbles crossly at the rain and his luck. The idea of sprinting back home appeared in his mind again, and he is about ready to go with it, thinking so carefully about how much time it would take and what were his chances of catching a cold, that he doesn’t notice another body appearing next to him.  
  
“Chanyeol? Are you okay?”  
  
Nearly falling over in surprise, Chanyeol is abruptly snapped out of his thoughts. He glances upwards, staring at the person hovering above him with wide eyes, and lets out a (manly) squeak when he registers the face.  
  
“Yifan..?” he murmurs.

* * *

The first time Chanyeol had met Yifan, he was late.

His boss had called all of the employees in their department together for a meeting first thing in the morning.  
  
Chanyeol had forgotten to set his alarm the previous night. That morning, he had been woken up by the dumpster truck that passed by his street every morning at just twenty minutes after he was supposed to be awake.  
  
His phone pinged with a text from Kyungsoo a few minutes later – his co-worker told him that he’d better hurry, for everybody in their office hadbeen called together for a meeting that was supposedly very important.  
  
Therefore, Chanyeol had rushed getting dressed and brushing his teeth, grabbed a poptart from his pantry, and sprinted out his door, lopsided necktie flying behind him, pastry clamped in his jaw. He arrived at the doorway of the meeting room with a chaotic flourish, bent over and sweating bullets as he tried to catch his breath.  
  
When he finally looked up, the first thing he noticed was not the pointed glare his boss was shooting in his direction, or the amused snickers of his co-workers from various places around the room – rather, his gaze was caught upon the stranger standing in front of him, who was peering down at him curiously.  
  
This man is handsome, was the first thing that Chanyeol noticed; he had the type of face that would render all the office ladies into excited giggling and hushed gossiping by the time lunch rolled around, and a bearing that indicated regality and authority – but that was not what had Chanyeol intrigued.  
  
This man was a different kind of handsome to Chanyeol – the kind that was unique and original, a kind of exotic beauty that differed vastly from the cookie-cutter types of faces one often saw in catalogue ads or blown up on giant billboards next to the highway. This man was strong – Chanyeol could see it in the way his face was molded, all sharp and unforgiving lines, and his posture, his hands at his sides, stiff and still and disciplined; but what softness he lacked in his features was belied in his gaze, large and round jet-black pupils staring down at Chanyeol with a sort of amusement and concern.  
  
As Chanyeol slowly rose to his full height, the stranger only fascinated him more – Chanyeol himself was already relatively tall, at a towering one-hundred and eighty-five centimeters, and it was rare to find another that could match his height, let alone best it.  
  
Yet, standing in front of him, this strange man had managed to do exactly that; although only by a couple of centimeters, he still was nonetheless taller.   
  
The man continued to stare at Chanyeol, so Chanyeol stared back, almost drowning in his unwavering gaze, only interrupted by his boss stepping forward and between them.  
  
“This is Wu Yifan,” his boss said, “He is from one of our Beijing offices. From today onwards, he will be working with us in this department.”  
  
Chanyeol reels backwards – this man was going to his new  _co-worker_ ; he apologizes profusely to him, for embarrassing himself and his department, and he apologizes to himself, for becoming so distracted with simply the appearance of Yifan and letting his manners wander somewhere else.  
  
But when Yifan speaks, Chanyeol cannot help himself but nearly get lost again.  
  
Yifan accepts his apology with a slight chuckle – his voice is deep, deeper than any other voice Chanyeol has ever heard, and the way he speaks his words is powerful and commanding, yet not merciless. The sound resonates in Chanyeol’s ears, leaving behind an odd ringing; he is entranced, one might say; captivated by the character of Yifan, yet slightly terrified of his presence.  
  
Chanyeol wants to get to know Yifan more, to become this intriguing man’s friend – but something stops him; whether it is embarrassment, fear, anxiety, what was that feeling where you want something but taking it just doesn’t feel right? He doesn’t know, so instead he settles for gazing at and admiring the art that is Yifan from a comfortable distance afar.

* * *

“Why are you crouched here? Do you not have an umbrella?” Yifan asks.

Chanyeol smiles weakly. “N-No, I left mine at home.” He winces when he hears the nervous stutter in his voice, praying he doesn’t sound dense.  
  
An emotion passes over Yifan’s face for less than a second – Chanyeol could not register in time what it was. “Where are you headed?” Yifan asks.  
  
“Not far from here. Just about a kilometer or two around the block, that neighborhood over there,” Chanyeol replies.  
  
A small, quiet smile appears on Yifan’s face. “I’m… headed the same way,” he begins, with a slight laugh, “do you want to come with me? We can share the umbrella.”  
  
Shock buzzes through Chanyeol, and he opens his mouth in surprise, a croak forming from the back of his throat; he quickly shuts his jaw, and smiles meekly to hide his embarrassment. However, the mortification is quickly replaced by a tiny, warm, sensation in his chest, a bit (rather, a lot) like bouncing excitement; blood rushes to his face, the heat spreading to the tips of his ears, and ins  
tead, before he knows it, he’s grinning up at the other man.  
  
“T-Thanks,” he says, “I’d like that.”  
  
Yifan offers his free hand to Chanyeol, where Chanyeol slowly takes it, lifting himself up. He quickly grabs his briefcase and dusts off his slacks, before joining Yifan under the umbrella, the memory of the taller man’s palm, calloused but warm and firm against his fingers, lingering on his other hand.

* * *

When Yifan first met Chanyeol, to say the least, he was amused.

Normally, he’d be annoyed. Or offended. Bursting into the room several minutes late, hair uncombed and clothing disheveled, all without an apology, would generally be considered insolence and unprofessional by most people in the corporate world. Yifan had been ready to dislike him, all until the man had glanced up at him, and met his stare; needless to say, Yifan was taken aback.  
  
He’s never used the word “cute” to describe a person before, not any of the girls he’s dated nor the celebrities to whom he’s attracted, instead finding the word much more fitting and appropriate to label things like kittens and puppies, and in general, small, fluffy things that you’d want to hug and squish.  
  
But “cute” was the only thing that came to his mind when his gaze landed upon the man’s face.  
  
Once upon a time, Yifan’s elder sister had raised a litter of three golden retriever pups to whom her dog had given birth.  
  
With wide eyes that divulged his sense of surprise, large, flap-like ears that stuck out at each side of his head, and long limbs that fit awkwardly in his stance and suit, Chanyeol reminded Yifan of nothing but a pup, and that thought stuck with him that day, and every consecutive day thereafter.  
  
He fascinated Yifan, and sometimes Yifan could not stop glancing at him – all the cringe-worthy awkward and clumsy that was Chanyeol melted into something much more endearing, something much more  _cute_ under Yifan’s eyes that put a small smile to the man’s face and made his tedious, mind-slaving work each day just a bit more bearable.  
  
So naturally, when Yifan notices Chanyeol crouched down in a corner in front of a convenience store, brows furrowed together in a look of distraught, something inside of Yifan’s heart clicks, the beat of the organ becoming more and more noticeable in his ears.  
  
Despite the two being barely acquaintances, and before his brain has managed to catch up to his feet and his mouth, Yifan finds himself strolling over to Chanyeol and offering him a place under his umbrella.  
The small thumping in his chest intensifies, quickening twofold as Yifan extends his offer, gauging Chanyeol’s reaction; when his mind had caught up to his actions, he inwardly winced, only imagining the unpleasant silence that would breed out of their encounter.  
  
But instead, Chanyeol smiles up at him with a genuine look of joy, taking the taller man up on his proposal; so Yifan smiles back, and extends a hand to help Chanyeol up, the pulsing in his heart slowing down as their hands meet, but never diminishing in its potency.

* * *

Being so near Yifan, their shoulders brushing against each other every step of the way as they crowd closer together under the bright blue canopy of the umbrella, makes Chanyeol a little more jittery and his actions and words a little more shaky than he’d like to acknowledge.

Although there is little to say between them, Yifan’s occasional words calm him. The man mostly only offers small pieces of information pertaining to their job, or mild-mannered comments on his day and his surroundings, such as how he met a stray cat on his way to work in the morning or how he loves the fresh scent of the rain. He never once divulged on his personal life, but that’s perfectly fine with Chanyeol, for he is enthralled by the sound of Yifan’s voice, and often catches himself glancing at the taller man’s moving lips out of the corner of his vision.  
  
Chanyeol attempts to return Yifan’s comments in conversation. Unfortunately, being the type of character that possesses little to no filter between brain and mouth, he blurts out a remark about the ample amount of candy wrappers littered around their boss’s cubicle and how all the sugar seemed to mold to the man’s waistline. Not a moment later, he mentally curses himself, expecting a rather unpleasant reaction from Yifan, whom he believes cares more about his work and the boss’s impression than Chanyeol ever will.   
  
But instead, Yifan laughs with him; Chanyeol enjoys the sound of the other man’s laugh, just as much, if not even more, as his voice; his heart skips a beat, and before he even realizes, he’s grinning back at Yifan madly, smile stretched widely from ear-to-ear, full set of teeth on display.  
  
The thin invisible barrier between them had seemed to pop, as Yifan offers his own speculation of their boss. From then on, their conversation slides forward smoothly, falling into place as easily and fluidly as their effortless synchronous strides.  
  
Soon enough, Yifan’s words are the only thing Chanyeol hears; the pitter-pattering of the downpour around their little awning of shelter fading out to a pleasant white noise in the back of Chanyeol’s mind, the clutter of sound from the life of the street dwindling away and isolating he and Yifan into their own comfortable little box.  
  
Through this, he picks up and learns bit-by-bit, the character of the taller man; Yifan has a rather dry, yet dorky sense of humor, something that Chanyeol strangely finds rather charming, making him laugh at the oddest comments and stories (he likes action figurines, Chanyeol learns, which would sound utterly stupid coming out of anyone else’s mouth); Yifan is actually not as stern and straight-faced as Chanyeol had first thought him out to be, his exterior exuding professionalism and neutrality melting away and molding itself into crevices of his natural disposition. Most unexpected of all, however, Yifan is just a little bit awkward in his actions – his jaw hanging agape when he smiles, his eyebrows crinkling just slightly upwards when he recalls something important, or the small pauses in his actions if he thinks while doing them. In a way, it’s a bit similar to Chanyeol himself.  
  
In time, the pair begin to approach the ingresses of their neighborhood, slick inner-city buildings and colorful shop signs giving way to the more muted tones of quaint houses, uneven lawns, and the occasional barking dog. Chanyeol thinks time passes too quickly, but it makes him realize just exactly how greatly he appreciated Yifan’s company.  
  
Yifan pauses in his step. “Oh look, the rain’s pretty much cleared,” he says, tilting the umbrella backwards and gazing up at the sky. Chanyeol follows suit – by now, even though the sky had darkened considerably and the streetlamps alongside the sidewalks were lit up with golden glows. A few faint stars blinked down upon them, thick clouds no longer masking their glimmer.  
  
“You’re right,” Chanyeol murmurs in surprise.  
  
Yifan shifts his feet, scratching his neck, his mouth slightly open with a question on his tongue. “So,” he begins, “Which part of this neighborhood do you live in?”  
  
Chanyeol looks back at him abruptly – he hadn’t registered it, but he and Yifan had wandered their way to the first intersection amidst the rows and rows of houses, denoted by a large streetlamp hanging above their heads casting elongated shadows over the faded grey of the pavement. To their left, the road curves slightly as it melds into a sizable cul-de-sac, and to their right, more and more homes seem to crowd together as their structures climb and soon disappear over the rise of an uneven hill.  
  
“My house is at the end of the cul-de-sac,” Chanyeol replies, “What about you?”  
  
“I’m on the other side of the hill,” Yifan says. “So it seems we’re on opposite ends,” he adds, with a quiet laugh.  
  
A small smile forms on Chanyeol’s lips, and he turns fully around so he is facing the other man. “Yeah, we are.”  
  
Yifan looks slightly away when the other meets his gaze, before glancing up, pursing his lips together. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” he murmurs.  
  
_Tomorrow_. Normally Chanyeol would hate that word – it always meant rushed scribbling on papers the next morning, and Kyungsoo tripping back and forth between the copy room and their shared cubicle, accompanied by Chanyeol quaffing several pots of coffee with an irate boss griping at them every turn of the clock’s minute hand. But instead, he  _likes_  that word rolling off of Yifan’s tongue. It has a very nice connotation to it, sounding something like a sweet promise made to an elated child, who is unable to remain still in their prospect of fulfillment.  
  
If possible, the excitement and anticipation in Chanyeol’s chest is magnified, the beam on his face spreading even wider. “Yup, tomorrow. Good night, Yifan,” he quips, with a little more kick in his voice than necessary.  
  
Yifan doesn’t seem to notice; he (coolly) tilts his head in a nod, taking a step back, but Chanyeol stops him from going further.  
  
“Um,” he murmurs, biting the corner of his lip – he has one last thing to say. “I… really liked talking with y-you,” he manages to cough out, turning his gaze downwards towards the pavement.  
  
This stills the other man, where he pauses for a second or two before he responds.  
  
Chanyeol bites his lip, mentally kicking himself for saying such a thing. In his head, he sounded sweet and endearing – but in actuality the words coming out of his mouth felt childish and a little awkward.  
  
Contrary to Chanyeol’s anticipation, Yifan  _smiles_ instead, his lips expanding until he is outright grinning, a laugh plaguing his voice when he speaks. “I liked talking with you, too.”  
  
Yifan’s grin is infectious; Chanyeol  _giggles_ (or as close to a giggle as an office-going man can get) at his positive response, a similar unruly smile sliding uncontrollably onto his own lips; he stands there, not knowing anything to say, the pages in his mind washed white. He thinks if somebody were to walk by and see the pair, they would laugh – two tall men dressed in clean-pressed suits grinning stupidly at each other underneath the harsh light of a streetlamp is not something commonly seen, and Chanyeol snorts as he laughs, envisioning what he and Yifan must appear like at the moment.  
  
Yifan looks at him oddly, but takes it as a cue and laughs with him, even though he probably doesn’t know what Chanyeol thinks is funny; when Chanyeol stops, his stomach and mind catches up to him and he realizes that he’s actually shivering and hungry. Of course, he never noticed anything with such a calming presence of Yifan next to him, but it would be best that he went home now.  
  
Waving to Yifan and thanking him for letting him walk with him under the umbrella, Chanyeol turns around and begins his trip down the sidewalk to his home, but before he has taken several steps, this time Yifan stops him in his tracks.  
  
“By the way,” Yifan begins, and Chanyeol turns his head; the other man has his phone pulled out, and is staring at something on the screen, before looking up at Chanyeol – “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow as well,” he says, before coughing stiffly, wishing Chanyeol another goodbye, and quickly moving away.  
  
Chanyeol continues his journey home, but he cannot control the spring that attaches itself to his step, lifting the soles of his feet in the air in an awkward bounce, soon morphing into a full-on skip. He swings his arms at his sides, beaming up at the sky, and once he knows Yifan is out of earshot he finally lets himself laugh raucously. All the previous contentment and joy stored in his heart bubbles up inside of him and fuels his laughter as he moves down the sidewalk, the thought of his couch and microwave dinners long gone, replaced entirely with the clear image of a very striking, very endearing co-worker.  
  
Chanyeol knows that tomorrow, he’s not going to bring an umbrella to work.

**Author's Note:**

> why doesn't anyone like krisyeol anymore sobs  
> this is my word vomit labeled as "fluff", i hope it did you fluff justice <3


End file.
